


Starfish

by Syberiad



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Canon - Book, Humor, M/M, Work In Progress, book!Drawlight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 18:28:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4315701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syberiad/pseuds/Syberiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drawlight's latent affinity for magic begins to awaken after he happens upon a mysterious magical artifact in the form of a fashionable starfish-adorned hat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mr Drawlight was on his way home from a hard day’s work of redecorating Mr Norrell’s house[1] and ignoring everyone’s boring conversations[2] when he happened upon a most perplexing sight: an unfamiliar hat shop. Priding himself on his familiarity with every hat shop[3] in London, he felt simply obligated to investigate. Wasting no time, he stepped inside and beheld what had to be the most wondrous collection of hats in the world — no, the universe. Even the denizens of other planets such as Mars or Venus or Australia[4] would surely be in awe of this grandiose assortment of stovepipes, bowlers, berets, and — oh! — they even had a feathered teapot[5] in stock!

The proprietor of the shop was an elderly woman of about 70. Despite her age, her hair was almost as dark as his own, though likely hers was artificial; the sunlight streaming in through the tall French windows (of which Drawlight approved) gave it a hint of burgundy (of which he also approved). Mr Strange could definitely benefit from a similar dye, he thought.

The old woman reminded him more of the other magician at the moment, as she was reading from a large, ancient-looking tome. The title on its cover was in some foreign language he didn’t recognize but, judging by the illustration below, the book was either about chemistry or trains. Both were painfully dull topics, as far as Drawlight was concerned, but clearly they held great interest for the lady, who was so immersed in her reading that she’d not yet noticed his arrival. Only when he accidentally knocked over a stack of _kazaori-eboshi_[6] while trying to reach for something that had caught his eye on the top shelf (typical, everything interesting was up where he was too short to reach) did she look up.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you!” She spoke kindly and with a very strong Russian accent. She was almost too friendly, in fact, and reminded him of his grandmother; it didn’t take long for her to pronounce him too thin and start offering him random food. “Have some khachapuri,” she said, holding up a plate she’d pulled out of seemingly nowhere[7].

He had to decline because square-shaped pastries were only fashionable in winter.

After some convincing, the old woman reluctantly left him alone again and he returned to perusing the shop. What was it that had caught his eye earlier? He stared up at the top shelf. Was it that opera hat with pineapples[8] along its brim? No, no, not that… Ah, there it was, behind the papaq[9]: a simple silk top hat with something gleaming at its brim. Casting a quick glance back at the old woman, he decided she was probably too short herself to be of much assistance and proceeded to prod the hat with his cane until it fell over, catching it quickly with his other hand before it could reach the floor.

Examining it more closely now, he found that the decoration on the hat’s band was a starfish and that the gleaming object was a red jewel at its very center. Lacking much knowledge of echinoderms beyond their name[10], he assumed the jewel was meant to represent the starfish’s eye, which the creatures all naturally had at their centers. No, wait, that didn’t seem quite right… He gave it another scrutinizing glance. Ah, of course! Real starfish had more eyes than that! They had five of them, one for each arm, so this one was evidently a cyclops. Drawlight couldn’t possibly be more delighted because, not only were cyclopes the absolute height of fashion these days, but something about the hat’s design appealed to him on a personal level too. He felt oddly drawn to it. It was a hat with personality, the sort of hat for which one might buy an extra ticket to the theatre. He had to have it!

Well, maybe he was getting ahead of himself; he should try it on first. He skipped over to the full-length mirror at the back of the shop and placed it on his head at a jaunty angle. It fit perfectly, complimented his features, and smelled vaguely of linden flower tea. His earlier verdict still stood: he had to have it! Of course, there was still the issue of money. His finances were, as usual, in the negatives, but details, details! Bidding the hat and the old woman farewell, he ran off to do what he did best: flirt with random handsome men until they were charmed into giving him money (or irritated into just throwing money at him to go away, whichever came first[11]).

* * *

  1. ▲Mr Strange had, for some reason, turned all of the floor lamps in the house into giraffes that day, which upset Drawlight greatly because giraffes clashed horribly with the nice new curtains he’d picked out earlier that week. Why couldn’t he transform them into artiodactyls[a] that better fit his aesthetic, like gazelles perhaps? Gazelles were _très à la mode_ this year. 
    1. ▲Everyone was further distracted from the important decorating matter at hand by Drawlight’s knowledge of a word like “artiodactyl”. How did he know such a specific term when he still believed that cassowary trees really grew cassowaries or that the rhinoceros was actually a type of dolphin? Drawlight himself didn’t see what the big deal was. Basic animalian taxonomic knowledge was in style this year too, after all, and since neither cassowaries nor dolphins were really animals – they were more like plants, were they not? – they weren’t relevant his interests. Childermass, meanwhile, consulted his cards and discovered that this word shouldn’t even exist until some 25 years in the future, but he kept this mysterious anachronism to himself, at least for now.
  2. ▲He and Childermass made funny faces at each other behind Mr Norrell’s and Mr Lascelles’s backs for almost 40 minutes. It was a most diverting activity. They made a competition from it of sorts and, while Drawlight put in good effort, he lacked the facial dexterity necessary to raise one eyebrow cynically at his opponent and ultimately had to concede defeat.
  3. ▲Except for that one overrated invitation-only store that refused to admit him — not that he’d want to wear any of their tacky, uninspired hats anyway. Even if they did offer him an invitation, he would turn it down and proclaim that he’d rather wear a feathered teapot on his head.
  4. ▲As the name “Australia” was popularized in 1814 by the navigator Matthew Flinders, this may or may not be an anachronism, depending on one’s personal interpretation of the time span encompassing these events. As it stands now, it both is and isn’t: Schrödinger’s anachronism.
  5. ▲It did make for quite a stylish _chapeau_ , certainly better than anything that _other_ shop had to offer, but sadly only came in a puzzling shade of mauve-ish viridian and thus wouldn’t match anything he owned. Plus, bits of the feathers would probably fall into the tea and ruin the flavor. No, no, too much trouble, not worth it at all.
  6. ▲Hats worn by Japanese noblemen during the Heian period.
  7. ▲She’d pulled it out of the khachapuri dimension, of course. It is another realm, a bit like Faerie, only significantly more Georgian.
  8. ▲Charming as the hat was, his anachronistic senses advised him against it because it would frighten Mr Strange far too much.
  9. ▲A style of wool hat worn by Azeri men. There’s a famous story about how the Azeri composer, Uzeyir Hajibeyov, used to buy two tickets for the theater, one for himself, and one for his papaq. Drawlight felt he could understand this man well, because whenever he went to the theatre himself, his own hat often proved to be a much more charming companion than any person. In fact, it usually provided him with more amusement than the play being performed too.
  10. ▲Childermass, who had recently read about starfish in one of Mr Norrell’s books, managed to convince Drawlight that they were not plants earlier that day by providing citations. Mr Norrell then started telling them about some magician from several centuries ago who’d used starfish as his symbol, much like the Raven King used ravens, and it was such a horrendously boring story that Drawlight actually read those aforementioned citations to pass the time, except they weren’t that interesting either so he started making up his own starfish facts in his head instead. “Contrary to their name, starfish were not actually fish but ballerinas…” he’d mumbled to himself as he started to doze off. Fortunately, only Childermass had overheard him and his only response was to show off his impressive eyebrow-raising ability again.
  11. ▲As long as no one threw their shoes at him. Unless they were expensive shoes and he could pawn them off for currency, of course, then by all means…




	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t long before he found himself in the company of one of his most dearest friends, a certain Mr Henry Lascelles.

“And just where exactly did you see this quaint little hat?” Lascelles asked, amused at the smaller man’s obsessive passion over something so insignificant.

“Quaint! That is hardly a word worthy of an article of such sublime beauty, Henry! It’s a veritable _objet d'art_ … No, beyond that, it's…” Drawlight folded his hands and looked up at the ceiling dreamily. “It is the Adonis of the hat pantheon!”

“How long until you start composing poetry for it, I wonder!” Lascelles laughed and took a sip of his wine, waiting for Drawlight to laugh too, but the other man was too lost in his daydreams to notice. He returned to his earlier question: “Where did you meet this god-disguised-as-a-hat, then?”

“It was just over by the— wait. I know you, Mr Lascelles. You wish to run off and buy it for yourself in order to agitate me! So, I am not telling!” Drawlight crossed his arms and smirked, proud at having avoided what he perceived as the other man’s clever trap.

Lascelles shook his head, still amused. “While it is true that your agitation gives me great pleasure, I would never stoop so low as to deprive my dear friend of the divine object of his affection!” He thought for a moment, a cruel smiling spreading across his lips. “In fact, perhaps I’ll buy it for you myself, not as a loan but a gift.”

“Will you? Oh, thank you! Thank you so much, Henry!” It didn’t take much to disintegrate most of his mistrust (honestly, he assumed alcohol was responsible for Lascelles’s uncharacteristically generous spirit and that he should accept while it lasted) but a cautious sliver still remained. “I… I suppose you’ll be wanting something in return?”

“Well, there is one thing…” Lascelles trailed off suggestively, placing a hand onto Drawlight’s bony shoulder. “I thought that you might join me for a little game, that is all.”

“But I’m no good at games[1]!” It took him a moment. “Ah! Of—of course.” Drawlight had a feeling he knew what sort of game he meant. He scooted a bit closer to the other man on the _chaise longue_ and looked up at him through his long dark eyelashes, blushing. He didn’t mind. It wouldn’t be their first time together. “Use me however you wish, I am yours,” he said softly, but there was an edge of something else in his voice. Excitement, perhaps, or yearning[2]. Drawlight had long since had feelings for the handsome and wealthy gentleman but had assumed his own true social status would always be a barrier.

Lascelles swept the small, slender man into his arms and stood, lifting Drawlight like he weighed nothing. Holding someone so fragile and pretty and helpless gave him a rush of excitement — of power! — which was marred somewhat by the fact that Drawlight wouldn’t stop fidgeting. No matter, he would hold himself still soon enough.

When Lascelles carried him into his bedroom, he didn’t toss Drawlight on the bed as he’d been expecting but instead sat him down on a chair. Ignoring the smaller man’s questioning look, he disappeared for a moment into his dressing room. Confused, Drawlight remained seated but he needn’t wait long. Lascelles returned in a few moments with a bundle of scarves, with which he then proceeded to fasten Drawlight’s arms and legs to the chair, tightly and securely.

Drawlight giggled nervously. “I don’t understand, Henry. What sort of game are we playing? Does it have a name?”

“Hmm, did I neglect to tell you?” Lascelles casually picked up an apple from a bowl on his nightstand. “William Tell.” He set the apple down on Drawlight’s head. Noting the other’s blank look, he added: “You do know who William Tell is, don’t you?”

“It sounds very familiar. William Tell, William Tell… I’m sorry, Henry, you know I’m a complete noodle-head! Did he… invent the telescope?” Drawlight guessed, still very confused.

Lascelles rolled his eyes and sighed, his patience starting to wear thin. “You’re thinking of Galileo, my dear.”

“William Galileo?”

“NO! Not William Galileo, you complete and utter—” Lascelles took a moment to compose himself. “Just hold still and don’t let that apple fall.”

“Y—yes, sir!” Drawlight obeyed, although he was growing more and more nervous by the second. Somehow, he got the impression that this wasn’t some sort of elaborate back posture exercise. It wasn’t until Lascelles turned around, holding in one hand a cheque and in the other a pistol, that he suddenly remembered exactly who William Tell was.

Then he started to panic.

“I changed my mind, Mr Lascelles! I don’t want to play this game!” he cried, thrashing frantically against his restraints. “Please, sir! Let me go!”

Meanwhile, the apple, wanting no part in this nonsense, fell and rolled away under Lascelles’s bed.

Lascelles clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I told you to hold still. Don’t you want your hat?” He gave the cheque a little flick before folding it into his breast pocket. “Drawlight…”

Drawlight was not listening to him. He was crying and shouting and jerking his limbs uselessly against the restraints, hoping that at least one of Lascelles’s servants would hear something and set him free. How did these things always happen to him? All he wanted was a nice hat, not to be used as target practice!

Lascelles backhanded him hard across the face with his free hand, knocking one of his rings against Drawlight’s left eye in the process. He cried louder but Lascelles then grabbed him by the throat, stifling his screams. “It will be much worse for you if you don’t hold still and keep quiet, do you understand? Blink twice if you understand.” He waited, grip tightening.

Drawlight, not wanting to know how it could possibly get any worse, conceded, blinking back tears and pain.

“Good, good. Now…” He grabbed a different fruit, an orange this time, off the nightstand and placed it on his captive’s head. “Let’s get on with it.” He walked to the opposite side of the room. “Three tries!” He fired the first shot and missed completely, hitting a nearby lamp instead.

“Not the Tiffany[3]!” Drawlight cried in anguish, momentarily forgetting his own predicament to mourn the loss of the lovely light fixture. “Mr Lascelles, you've… you’ve had far too much to drink, please stop! You can’t hope to aim properly in your state!”

Lascelles ignored him and fired again. Drawlight didn’t see where this bullet landed as he had shut his eyes tightly at this point. “I just wanted a hat… Make it stop, make it stop…” he babbled to himself.

Then, in the next few moments, something unusual happened.

Lascelles, who’d had no intention of giving “his dear friend” anything and had purely been aiming to terrify, felt a strange sensation wash over him, an unnatural chill. His hand that squeezed the trigger momentarily did not feel like his own. The bullet flew even more off course then he’d been intending, ricocheted off his bed frame, and flew straight into the orange balanced on Drawlight’s head.

The orange exploded into a puff of confetti.

It took them both a moment to process what had happened. Drawlight, surprisingly, was a bit quicker to reach a conclusion. He stood up. “Oh…” The scarves binding his arms and legs had mysteriously fallen to pieces. “Oh!”

He wiped the tears from his eyes and smiled brightly, shaking confetti out of his hair. “You were just trying to surprise me!” Well, he wasn’t wrong. “It was all a prank with a trick gun, trick scarves, and trick orange from one of the magicians? How delightful! You do know how much I enjoy a good spectacle!” He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes again, wincing. “I do wish you hadn’t hit me so hard. Do you know how difficult it is to cover a black eye with makeup? I suppose it was my fault for causing such needless ruckus… Alright, I forgive you!”

He skipped over to Lascelles and, having to both stand on tiptoe and pull the taller man down by his cravat a bit, kissed him affectionately on the cheek. “Thank you so much, sir! I… I better be going now!”

With that said, he quickly grabbed the cheque out of Lascelles’s breast pocket and ran away before he could think of any more bizarre games for them to play. It was getting a bit late but Drawlight knew if he didn't resolve this hat quest soon, he wouldn't be able to get any sleep at night, so off he went again, back to the hat shop, which was hopefully still open.

Lascelles, meanwhile, had no idea what just happened and decided to take a nap. He did not rest well. His nightmares were filled with… starfish?

* * *

  1. ▲Childermass had been trying to teach him how to play chess but Drawlight discovered that stacking the chess pieces on top of each other provided him with far more amusement. “Look, I made a chess golem! Let us ask Mr Norrell to animate it!”
  2. ▲Or maybe just allergies. Drawlight never did like Lascelles’s choice in hydrangea.
  3. ▲The first Tiffany lamp was created in 1895 so this is yet another mysterious anachronism.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is a bit darker and more suggestive because Lascelles is in it, being very mean.


	3. Chapter 3

Closing time turned out to be the least of Drawlight’s worries. As he approached the building, he was met with a sight both familiar and soul-crushing: his starfish hat…

_His starfish hat on the head of another man._

He saw the man just as he stepped out of the shop, hopped into a carriage, and sped away, vanishing along with all of Drawlight’s hopes and dreams. After all he’d just been through, he couldn’t take it. He sat down on the steps, hid his head between his knees, and started to cry. Preoccupied as he was with his own misery, he didn’t notice another person approach until the fellow had almost tripped over him.

“Drawlight? What on earth are you doing here?” a familiar voiced asked. Looking up he beheld a tall, oddly-handsome man with a long crooked nose and long black hair: Mr Norrell’s servant, John Childermass.

Drawlight jumped up like he was spring-loaded. “Why hello there, Mr Childermass, fancy seeing you here! I was… just… Well, you know how it is, I was just out…” He waved his hand vaguely. “Enjoying the… place…” He succeeded at hiding he’d been crying for about four seconds before the accursed tears started streaming down his face again.

Childermass had things to do and was in a bit of a hurry but he could hardly ignore a young man with a black eye on the verge of some sort of breakdown. Plus, he had grown to regard this particular faux-gentleman with a sort of fond amusement in recent times, so his concern was (kind of, sort of) genuine. He was a man of few words, however, and wasn’t quite sure what to do. “Tell me what happened,” he said finally.

Apparently, that was all it took, because Drawlight quickly spilled the whole story — well, almost the whole story. He omitted the whole William Tell thing because he knew how much Childermass already disliked Lascelles and didn’t see any benefit, at least for now, in deepening that animosity. Instead, he passed off his black eye as a bizarre billiards accident, which Childermass could believe because Drawlight was as terrible at billiards as he was at most other games. 

Regardless, as Drawlight rambled on and on and ON AND ON about some silly hat, Childermass’s already-tenuous concern was in danger of falling away into mockery. Matters were further complicated by the fact that Drawlight, wanting to impress the other man with his fashionable vocabulary, constantly referred to it as an “asteroid” hat. It wasn’t until near the end of his story, when Drawlight described “all five of its arms seeming to wave him goodbye” that Childermass realized he’d been meaning to say _Asteroidea_ this entire time. When this fact dawned on him, his face suddenly turned very serious.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said. “You know I am not as knowledgeable about this fashionable taxonomy as you are. Did you mean it was a _starfish_ hat?”

Drawlight confirmed that it was so. He was quite taken aback at how distraught Childermass seemed at this news. The taller man’s displeasure almost rivaled his own. “Could it be that you, Mr Childermass, were also after the same hat?” he asked and didn’t wait for an answer. “I always knew you were a man of good taste, dear sir! Or, wait, it can’t be for Mr Norrell, can it? I always thought a wizard’s hat would be more… pointy… But alas, it matters not! We are both too late.”

“The man who bought it. Did you happen to get a good look at his face? Did you recognize him at all?”

“He was…” Drawlight paused thoughtfully for a moment. “Have you ever had a toast sandwich before? It’s a most horrendous invention: a thin slice of toast between two plain pieces of bread. Ugh! Such a culinary travesty, I can hardly believe it!”

“Is this a non-sequitur?” Childermass asked impatiently.

“Hm? Isn’t that what the Italian version is called? It’s probably much better; they use garlic bread, I think. Some spices and seasoning, maybe a pinch of sumac… Lucas lent me a bottle of sumac from Mr Norrell’s chef the other day and I— Er, I mean, my own chef puts it on simply everything, it’s amazing—”

“The man, Mr Drawlight.” Childermass interrupted and, lest Drawlight think he meant some other man and began describing his fictional chef[1] in great detail instead, he specified: “What can you tell me about the man who bought the hat.”

“I can only tell you that he was a toast sandwich given human form, Mr Childermass! No seasoning, no garnish, no distinguishing characteristics whatsoever!” He paused. “But wait… Do you really mean to track the fellow down? Couldn’t we just ask the—” He turned around to indicate the shopkeeper but froze mid-gesture. There was no shopkeeper. There was no shop. There was only an empty lot. Well, not entirely empty. There was a small table in the center with some sort of covered platter on it. Wordlessly, Drawlight lifted the cover. A single square-shaped pastry remained on the plate, the only indication that the shop hadn’t all been a dream.

Drawlight’s stomach growled. So did Childermass’s a moment later. Neither of them had eaten since morning. Equally wordless, Childermass broke the pastry in half, rendering it a far more stylish triangle shape, and handed a piece to Drawlight. It was probably the most wonderful thing either of them had ever eaten in their entire lives (and not only because British food was comparatively always terrible), lightening their spirits somewhat after the loss of what to Drawlight was the ultimate fashion accessory and what to Childermass was a rare and powerful magical artifact.

“This is amazing! I wish I’d taken a few back when I was trying the hat on, but you know I’m not much for eating,” Drawlight said.

A pause.

“You tried it on?” Childermass asked.

“Of course! Weren’t you listening to my story earlier? I went into great detail…”

Childermass laughed, unable to conceal his growing excitement. “Then all is not lost!”

“What do you mean?”

“Come, we must be quick!”

Drawlight barely had enough time to shove the rest of the pastry into his mouth before Childermass dragged him off, leading him around the corner where a carriage was waiting. Drawlight half expected to see Mr Norrell inside but no, it seemed that Childermass was on some sort of solo mission.

He didn’t know the time but it was getting somewhat dark outside and he realized how tired he was. Despite the bumpy ride, he fell asleep.

* * *

  1. ▲Whenever he deemed the people around him too boring, Drawlight had a habit of inventing entirely new, fictional people about which to gossip. His nonexistent servants were a favorite topic of his, although they had been getting more and more absurd as of late. Last time, when he was dozing off, he mumbled something about how his housekeeper was a telepathic ocean-encompassing being’s simulacrum of his long-dead aunt and how his butler was a hyper-intelligent shade of green. As usual, no one seemed to notice this nonsense save for Childermass, who rolled his eyes at the completely unwarranted references.




	4. Chapter 4

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep but at some point during that span of time Childermass had acquired a fishing rod. That wasn’t the only strange thing he’d noticed.

“Why is my hair wet?” he asked in confusion.

“From a locating spell,” Childermass said. “I narrowed down his location to this area, but I’m going to need your direct participation for the next step.”

“A spell? Mr Norrell lent you one?”

“Don’t worry, it’s only water.”

Before Drawlight could inquire further, the carriage stopped and Childermass was dragging him outside again. What was it with everyone trying to carry him off to places today!

“I can’t go outside with my hair wet!” Drawlight cried. “It’s cold! I’ll catch my death!” He hadn’t planned on being outdoors this late and wasn’t dressed for the weather. Childermass responded by removing his own heavy greatcoat and draping it around Drawlight’s slender shoulders. The smaller man was grateful for about 0.62 seconds before he felt how sweaty the coat was and shrugged it off in disgust. Childermass for once had the decency to look a little embarrassed and pulled a blanket out of the carriage for him instead. 

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” he said, peering around nervously as they walked. They were in an unfamiliar but busy part of town. Even at this late hour, many fashionable ladies and gentlemen were out and about, and Drawlight feared a random encounter with someone who’d recognize him. He imagined he looked absolutely ridiculous with wet hair and wrapped in a blanket and, oh of course, he had that black eye too.

“Up,” Childermass answer and then as though sensing the source of the other’s discomfort added: “No one can see us. Concealment charm.”

Up indeed. Childermass led him up to the roof of the tallest building in the area. He then plucked a single hair from Drawlight’s head and tied the black strand to the hook of the fishing rod. “I’ll handle this. All you need to do is concentrate. Think about the starfish hat, visualize it… Can you do that?”

Drawlight nodded, a huge smile spreading across his face, cold and fatigue momentarily forgotten. It seemed as though he was not only going to get his hat but also his long-awaited wish to see — not only see but partake in! — some _real_ magic. Unfortunately, this particular magic involved one of his greatest weaknesses: forcing Drawlight to concentrate on one thing for an extended period of time proved to be far more difficult than either of them had anticipated. 

Over and over, Childermass swung the fishing rod over the edge of the building and Drawlight shut his eyes and thought really hard about the starfish hat… only for something else to catch his mind’s eye. The ladies and gentlemen below them were in a state of great confusion over the strange wind, which whisked away over 20 different hats that evening. Childermass was growing rather frustrated but at least Drawlight was still having a good time, dancing around on the roof with three top hats stacked on his head at the same time.  When they caught a particularly large bonnet, Drawlight stacked it atop Childermass’s own usual top hat as well, proclaiming that they shall start a grand new trend together. (Childermass then decided to take his old hat off and place it somewhere out of the way, lest it get lost.)

“Perhaps,” Childermass concluded after a while, “it would work better if you cast the rod, Mr Drawlight.”

“I-I’m not so sure about that, Mr Childermass,” he gave a nervous little laugh. Even his three hats seemed to droop slightly from his sudden timidity. “I’d probably just drop it, you know me.”

Childermass rolled his eyes. “Yes, I do know you. I know that you are not nearly as foolish as you pretend to be.” He pushed the fishing rod into Drawlight’s hands and then moved to stand behind him. 

There was nothing less than innocent in his touches as he helped the younger man adjust his grip and pose, but Drawlight still felt himself blushing furiously. He felt warm, despite the crisp air. Remembering how easily he’d let Lascelles seduce him earlier, he wondered what was wrong with himself today. He’d always favored the company of handsome men, of course that wasn’t anything new (and even though Childermass was, allegedly, not a magician, his wild romantic looks were still to Drawlight’s liking), but it usually (despite what Lascelles might say) took much more than a soft brush against his shoulder to get him so… excited…

Childermass’s voice snapped him out of his brief reverie. 

“Er… pardon? I wasn’t listening,” Drawlight admitted.

“I asked if you were alright. Your face is red. Are you feeling feverish?” Childermass looked a little concerned and raised his hand. Drawlight flinched, expecting to be hit again, but all Childermass did was gently press his hand to the other’s forehead. “Are you sure you don’t want my coat?”

“No, no, I’m fine! It’ll just get in the way of this,” he said quickly, waving the fishing rod. “So… how should I…?”

Childermass showed him how to cast. He knocked a few stray hats back over the edge of the roof in the process but eventually managed to get it right. It really wasn’t that difficult after all. He shut his eyes and tried to focus. Childermass, still standing close behind him, didn’t make it any easier… at first. Then after a few moments, oddly enough, he started to find the other man’s presence… not calming, not soothing, but… well, whatever it was, it seemed that instead of helping him find the hat, it was helping the hat find him. It was close by. It called to him. It wanted to know…

He felt a tug on the pole. That was it! He pulled but the toast sandwich gentleman was not giving up without a fight, apparently, and pulled back harder. Drawlight almost fell over the edge of the roof but Childermass grabbed him just in time. Together they took hold of the rod and pulled (and really it was mostly Childermass doing all the work at this point) until, at long last, the hat leapt up before them like a very confused orca. They both fell back, Drawlight landing on Childermass’s lap and the hat, of course, landing perfectly balanced onto Drawlight’s head (the other three hats had long since abandoned ship).

“Well, Mr Drawlight,” Childermass said once they’d both stood up and Drawlight had finished his victory dance, “it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, but now I must take my hat and take my leave.” And he plucked the hat right off the smaller man’s head and placed it on his own. Before he could even get a properly smug expression going, however, the hat promptly disappeared off his head with a little pop and reappeared once more on Drawlight’s.

“Oh, looks like you’re out of luck, Mr Childermass! It likes me better~”


	5. Chapter 5

Childermass had thought himself well-prepared for his quest — the search for the _Ānēagede Steorrfis_ , a legendary magical artifact rumored to possess immense power. It had vanished from this world 300 years ago but a prophecy foretold its eventual return. Norrell, of course, dismissed it all as nonsense. There were countless such legends in existence and they rarely amounted to anything. Even so, something about this tale had ignited Childermass's curiosity. He'd spent several months researching it in his spare time and had, at the very least, expected to discover something amusing. Needless to say, he had not anticipated this turn of events: the mysterious ethereal entity dwelling within the hat had chosen, of all people, _Christopher Drawlight_ as its avatar. Why would it do that? _Why?_ Did it simply pick the first man who tried it on? For an ancient eldritch abomination, it clearly had little sense. Childermass would have to undo the bond as soon as possible. He gave a weary sign when he realized that this would entail spending every waking hour watching over Drawlight and keeping him out of trouble. 

Asking Norrell for assistance was completely out of the question — he'd want to destroy the artifact entirely and wouldn't care if it killed the symbiont in the process. Perhaps Jonathan Strange could help think of some better alternatives? Childermass didn't know the new magician too well yet but his experimental approach to magic might prove useful. It was worth a shot. Now, the first challenge would be convincing Drawlight to become their magical test subject for an indeterminate amount of time.

"Does it know any other tricks, I wonder? Or does it need to be taught?" Drawlight said, oblivious to the other man's scheming.

"Take it off and throw it," Childermass suggested and then followed through with the suggestion himself, ignoring the other man's horrified protests. The hat sailed through the air like a crane but when it reached about 15 feet away, it vanished with another pop and reappeared, yet again, one Drawlight's head.

"Oh! How very grand!" Drawlight clapped his hands. "Perhaps I should give it a reward?" He then looked thoughtful, directing an odd look at Childermass. He wasn't completely sure what was going on yet. Was the hat magical on its own or was Childermass casting more spells to amuse him? Why would he do such a thing? "Or perhaps I should give the reward to you, Mr Childermass~?" He spotted Childermass's old hat lying in the corner and picked it up. It had a small tear on the side that had been annoying Drawlight for ages. "I could fi— I mean, my valet could fix this for you."

"That won't be necessary. I don't need a reward." Childermass attempted to retrieve his possession, but Drawlight skipped away and hid it behind his back.

"Well perhaps _I_ want a reward," he said coyly

Childermass rolled his eyes. "You already have your hat."

"Perhaps I want another~"

"You have my hat too." Childermass gestured with his arm at the hats strewn across the roof. "You have all the hats, Drawlight."

Drawlight counter-rolled his eyes, tossing the torn thing back at its owner. "I didn't mean another hat."

"Then what did you mean?" Childermass asked, voice disinterested while he put his hat back on, readjusting his long hair beneath it.

"Forget it, this is pointless." He was feeling even more hot and… _agitated_ than he'd had before. He was vaguely aware, far off in the back of his mind, that this feeling had severely intensified at the exact moment he'd "fished" out that fashionable object of his desire. Speaking of fashionable objects of desire: "Maybe I'll go find Lascelles…"

The starfish ornament began to emit a faint amber glow. Childermass sensed a physical transportation spell in the works and assumed it was going to take Drawlight away to that irritating and depraved man. To his own surprise, the very thought of such a thing made him quite angry. To his own _utter horror_ , it also made him feel jealous. Incensed with these inexplicable emotions, he closed the gap between himself and Drawlight, grabbed him by the shoulders, and kissed him full on the lips. The starfish's amber glow changed to a shade of pale blue but he paid it no mind. The strange sensations that'd been plaguing Drawlight all afternoon had now reached him too and he deepened the kiss, lifting Drawlight up off the ground as the smaller man clung to him tightly, wrapping his legs around his waist. When they finally broke apart for air they found themselves in an entirely different location, in front of a shoemaker's in Little Ryder-Street.

"Oh, this is your place."

"What!" Drawlight recoiled from him so suddenly, he lost his grip on him and fell to the ground. "N—nonsense! I've never been in this part of town in my life!"

Childermass, a bit dazed under the starfish's strange aura of enchantment, felt he'd been merely making a casual observation of the facts and it took him a moment to comprehend the other's vehement denial. When he realized it, he sighed in frustration and, deciding he was beyond caring at this point, quickly reached into the other's coat pocket, deftly pulling out a small key. He walked into the building and up the stairs, stopping before the door to a tiny flat. Drawlight rushed after him, protesting the entire way, but he was too late. The key fit in the door. "And I suppose you've never seen this key before in your life either?" Childermass said smugly.

Drawlight replied with the darkest smile imaginable, the quintessence of the phrase "if looks could kill…" With an almost comically-subdued fury, he opened the door and invited Childermass into the shabby little abode, mumbling something about how of his servants were "away on vacation" that week.

Childermass set his hat down on a nearby table and Drawlight promptly took off his own and slammed it on top of it. Childermass laughed. Was this how dandies fought for dominance or something, he wondered?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one is abrupt.


End file.
